Nihilism
by Cattastrophie
Summary: A five part series of Hyuugacentric drabbles. warnings: incest. Naruto and all characters of said series belong to Kishimoto.
1. first

**I****. Possession**

They did not speak much when coupling. Conversation tended to fall aside when they were entangled, skin upon skin; it was replaced instead with sounds of lesser sensibility, and greater coherence.

Something was breached, therefore, that night, when the questions were asked. Neji's velvet-obsidian hair had loosened from its bindings, falling around him and Hinata, shielding both their faces, his thigh slick between hers, one strand of her midnight hair teasing a path between the luminous, supple skin. Colour had risen against the panes of both their faces. Neji's eyes remained wide open, silvery and opaque, glazed with desire, shame, and a hundred other things he had no patience to consider; Hinata's eyes were lowered, veiled behind dark lashes.

"What are you?"

The question was forced between harsh breathing; he was halfway inside of her, her back arched and defiant with need.

Hinata's eyes flew open and met his.

She pressed, shuddering, more of her flesh giving way to him, and finally remembered to whisper a reply. "A girl, Neji-nii"

Neji's head fell upon the white curve of Hinata's shoulder, his lips fervent against her neck. Hinata bit back sound, blood beating against her throat. She thought to ask something of Neji in return, but was driven to distraction by his hands and mouth; Neji was quicker, and spoke for a second time while he coaxed her legs apart, breathless, _leaning_ for deeper contact still.

"Whose are you?"

Hinata stiffened, her neck strained, lips working soundlessly. Pain slipped into her pale eyes, before it was blinked away. She answered in a voice that trembled and broke; she was aware of the mounting slickness between her thighs and her frantic heartbeat. "I am m-my own."

Neji stilled, and slipped out of her, propping himself above Hinata, who was gazing into-_past- _his eyes. He stayed thus, both conscious and uncaring of the seconds which slipped by. Without warning he parted her legs once more, before thrusting hard and fully into Hinata, eliciting a repressed gasp-moan which made his blood burn. One hand found her cheek and cupped the smooth, heated curve of her face; the other entwined fingers with hers, as he surged into and against her.

Hinata's breathing had turned staccato; she arched into Neji's body, whimpers escaping her lips. Neji's hand left her cheek, sliding hungrily towards where they were joined; he began his ministrations and Hinata jerked, drawing him further into her. His fingers stroked and twisted; he pushed against her, tongue darting forward to lick the underside of her white throat. His eyes upon hers, almost begging in expression, he rasped a final time. "_Whose are you?_"

She contracted around him, a moan tearing past her lips, legs limp as heat coursed through her.

"_Yours," _she gasped, and he came.


	2. second

**II****. Juxtaposition**

Hyuuga Neji at three adored speech: patient explanations in answer to his inexhaustible curiosity by Otousan in his deep, warm voice; gruff words of affection by his uncle in a voice so like his Otousan; shy, eager chatter made in clear, bell-like timbres between himself and an equally-aged Hinata-sama.

He had not yet learnt of her significance, or his.

Hyuuga Neji at thirteen resented definitions. He disliked the needless explaining of things that had been already shaped by powers beyond his comprehension or control; he detested specifying roles: _shinobi, genius, Branch Hyuuga. Fatherless, deserving clan-heir, impossible, impossible, impossible._ Neji had no use for such declarations, and had no desire to hear them voiced out.

He hated that these should have been decided for him when he was not paying attention to his life.

Hyuuga Neji at nineteen lived and moved with silence the ANBU had instilled within him. He had learnt to accept proclamations with reserve, and silent judgement. Cold scorn, for enemies who made wild claims moments before Jyuuken severed them from life; quiet admiration for his _nakama_ who pursued dreams with ferocious tenacity and brash, warm outspokenness.

He had yet to accept the proclaimation his heart was insisting he make, to Hinata.

**III****. Relation**

He was:

A cousin, her second playmate, eagerly admired, branded, a should-be clan heir, strong, cruel, given compassion to, forgiven, a guardian, a companion, a beloved, a husband.

She was:

A cousin, his first playmate, jealously guarded, an undeserving clan heir, vulnerable, ungifted, the enemy, accepted, forgiven, a companion, a friend, a beloved, a wife, deceased.

They had made unspoken vows: he guarded her with his life; she guarded his heart with her love.

It was her, in the end, who had guarded him with her life, left him with her love, and took his heart with her, where he could not follow.


	3. third

**IV****. Causation**

She was requested- not by name but by qualities- by the client.

She was gruffly offered alternative options by Hokage-sama.

Kurenai-sensei's gaze held experience, bitterness, fierce love and wordless refusal.

She was flatly discouraged by her father; Hanabi had burned a wretched gaze into the bedroom wall as Hinata related in brief to her sister what she was to be prepared for.

She accepted the mission.

It was only after Neji, newly ANBU and informed by the Godaime of his part in the mission, slid into her quarters past midnight and awakened her with the unmistakable flare of chakra, that she faltered.

His first words to her were low and cold. "The clan would never allow it." A deft twist of head followed, as though the painted porcelain mask was not enough to shield his face. Hinata swept her pale gaze across the sleek wooden floor, dragging a worn wrist over her hair. Her fingers were stark and white in the silver slant of moonlight.

"You'd be violated. Killed like an animal. "

The next words were spoken without expression; she felt his tight gaze upon her. Her fingers shook for an instant as she combed out her hair, still carefully escaping her cousin's masked eyes.

"Those are the possibilities you face," he finished.

"There are many such possibilities." Her fingers had stilled, leaving the warmth of her hair. "We are shinobi."

She cast her gaze at his long-fingered hands, gloved and taut at his sides as she spoke, gently. "They are not uncommon, these missions. Tsunade-sama has honour enough to consider with care before she accepts any-"

"Honour," Neji countered, dispassionate, hands clenched, "is what you might not have left after this." His voice hardened. "The Clan will not have a defiled heiress. They do not deserve that."

The words were bitter, irony-laced, and hollow. They were both keenly aware of the clear invitation Neji had made for Hinata to counter, to dredge up all possible malice, to hate.

Hinata moved towards Neji, bare feet silent against the floor, stopping in front of his black-clad form. Her fingers were upon the edges of the ANBU mask before Neji had blinked, and glittering white eyes met, before she slid the porcelain away from his face. She offered a small, pained smile which still managed to reach her eyes.

"We are shinobi of the Leaf, before anything else," Hinata's words were quiet. "We will go, Neji-nii. The Clan owes Konoha."

She gently pressed the mask into his suddenly numb hands, and stepped past him.

"The Clan owes you your chance," she said, his back to her, and slips away from him.

They went. Hinata pliant and trusting because of Neji; Neji, vicious and efficient, because of Hinata.

They returned, broken and triumphant, because they were Hyuuga, and shinobi of Konoha.


	4. fourth

**VI****. Lie/Revelation**

At age three and four, they were inseparable, two sets of moth-winged feet, cheeks aglow with a child's uncomplicated excitement, two pairs of wild, pale, shining eyes and a silence bursting at seams which give way to mirth.

They had a scheme-plan-training-game-agreement-of-trust, something Hinata and Neji shared joint credit for inventing. _Lie, _they would mouth, and run on silent feet to some deep-tucked corner room of the Main house grounds.

There, they hide, or at least pretend the rest of the household could not see them. They lie, sprawled haphazardly, on the woven tatami. They face each other, bodies mirrored, and speak of secrets, eyes locked, and a mere breath apart for fear of being overheard. _Fifth Aunt Hanai has a baby in her, Father said he saw, _or, _a Branch House guard gave me ocha dango today when Otousan was out; I saw him holding hands with a girl-stranger, he touched her face. _

They do their best to out-surprise each other with the whispered secrets, her dark brow furrowed in concentration, his lips small and pressed in a child's determination not to let expressions of shock escape him. The one who gave in first to surprise endured whatever the victor would decide; that was the rule.

It was always Hinata who would emerge victorious; white doe eyes and soft mirthful voice delivering the most shocking of hidden truths-sometimes-lies; her triumph was ritually sealed by tracing curious fingertips over Neji's face, smooth forehead and ravensilk hair longer than her own.

The one time Neji managed to triumph was the day their scheme-plan-training-game-agreement-of-trust was breached.

They had faced each other, white eyes stubbornly locked, a smile of quiet mirth and mischief on Hinata's lips. Neji had noticed, stared defiantly back into her shining eyes, and scowled. Hinata had blinked, uncertainty creeping over delicate features, smile fading. Neji had widened white eyes, dismayed, wanting to restore the smile on her pale face. He had tilted his head forward, had whispered a definitive sentence. His reward was immediate and two-fold; Hinata's downcast eyes lifted and widened, a beam firmly back in place. Neji claimed victory, in a child's satisfaction of a job well done, by pressing his lips clumsily to the side of Hinata's cheek, and smiling in return.

Then Hizashi stepped into the room, extended a solemn hand to Neji, and led him away to be Sealed, leaving Hinata smiling and confused on the beech wood floor.

Fifteen years later they are separable; two sets of moth-winged feet, cheeks bloodless and blood-smeared in turn. The light from Neji's pale eyes is shuttered, wild and bone-white behind masks of painted porcelain; Hinata's eyes have no trace of wildness left, but shine, for more reasons than merely mirth.

They come face to face during Tanabata, both having withdrawn from Clan festivities with assorted excuses, and both having slowly traced their way to the corner-room. They step in without breaking gaze or distance, expressions guarded from surprise or shock. The air is cold and thick with dust, old ghosts and secrets.

Hinata's lips trace the word. _Lie_, she says, and Neji slowly takes her hand.

**A/N: **Tanabata, meaning "Evening of the seventh" is a Japanese star festival, derived from Obon traditions and the Chinese star festival, Qi Xi. The festival is usually held on July 7, and celebrates the meeting of Orihime and Hikoboshi. The Milky Way, a river made from stars that crosses the sky, separates these lovers, and they are allowed to meet only once a year. This special day is the seventh day of the seventh lunar month of the lunisolar calendar.

[Source taken from http://en. 


	5. fifth

Author's note:

Solution marks the end to the five-part series Nihilism; I do apologise for the delay! A recommendation: the final piece is best read accompanied by _Eisen_, a beautiful piece of music from the anime Mai Hime. Finally, I'd just like to take the chance to thank everyone who has taken an interest in the fic for their patience and for the truly encouraging reviews. 

**V****. Solution **

She was always the one who drew him in like moth to candlelight; she was the solution he sought.

The first time, it is dawn, the sky a wild mix of crimson-yellow-flame and the escaping moon, awkwardly silver. Neji turns white eyes stubbornly downwards to hide the tears of pain elicited by the curse seal jutsu, small hands fisting in defiance. His gaze trains on the smooth wood he kneels on and catches sight of black-clad, turned-in feet. Neji lifts his eyes, meets Hinata's wide, smiling ones, and his tears recede.

The second time, it is dusk, Neji cloaked by the sound of grey rain, falling upon the ground in the manner of blood brutally released from flesh by a katana. He faces the coffin and refuses to meet the gazes of his Clan, nor the sightless eyes of his freshly-dead father. His chest burns, grief and shock too acute to allow for tears. His eyes are colourless as he holds up a single stalk of incense and bows woodenly, stabs its crimson tip into pliant ash, and departs weightlessly. He turns a corner and stills beside the sliding paper doors of a chamber. He hears Hinata through the relentless rain, a child's voice breathless and thick._ Uncle,_ she whispers, and shakes with tears. Hinata weep in his stead, and the acute ache in Neji's heart lessens slightly. 

The third time, it is mid-day, but time is stale and in stasis inside the arena for the second Chunin assessment. Neji faces Hinata, lips curled and teeth bared as he takes her, piece by piece, apart with words. He smells fear the way a beast would from its prey as he faces her, wrists and palms set in deadly pre-motion. Neji is not quite sure from whom it is rolling off in waves; he stills and waits, the biting scent of terror heavy in the air between them. Hinata solves it for him, this strange desperate uncertainty, and turns it into blind, wild rage with her defiance. Then he strikes, and all Neji can smell afterwards are the musk of sweat and her sweet, coppery blood.

The fourth time, it is late morning, the sun half-mocking, half-congratulatory behind taciturn clouds. Neji stands at attention, face impassive as he receives the ceremonial hitai-ate by the Godaime Hokage. He is Jounin now, one of the youngest, and the forehead protector is sleek and cool in his palm. He tightens hold on it as he is half-dragged by his team-mates to a celebratory meal, and a beaming Gai-sensei whose exuberance surpasses normal standards. He hardly registers the slide of food down his throat, but the sake burns and clings to his lips. He leaves, afterwards, and takes refuge near empty training grounds on the edge of Konoha's forests. His grip on the hitai-ate had not once loosened, but now slips between numb fingers to fall to the earthen ground. Hinata steps out from behind foliage, and stands, gazing in silence at his back. Neji turns slowly, and regards white, turned-in feet. _Congratulations, Neji nii-san_, Hinata offers quietly, but the most Neji can manage to look squarely at is her midnight hair. _Ojiisama will be so proud_, she continues, her voice dream-like. Neji starts, and their pale eyes meet. Neji draws a shuddering breath, and closes the distance between them. _I apologise_, Neji says hoarsely, before placing his mouth softly and carefully over hers. Hinata shakes in his arms, but returns his embrace. Her lips are soft, and the knowledge of her kiss tastes bitter and sweet upon his tongue.

The fifth time, it is night. Neji returns feral and fresh from an ANBU mission, and slides into her chambers in darkness, the lack of light smouldering the air between them. He drops to his knees, tears falling from white eyes to moisten dark dried stains on his palms, uniform stiff with a stranger-child's lifeblood. He catches her within his arms, dragging her out of dreams; he presses her against the wall and kisses her so hard he draws blood from her lips. He begs for forgiveness and other inaudible wishes against her parted lips, and takes her, soft and harsh, on the floor. They are both sobbing silently by the end; one from shock, the other from shame, both from pleasure and pain made miscible from the act of touch.

The sixth time it is evening, the moon pale, a luminous crescent clinging to the sky. Neji and Hinata mirror each other, offering deep, slow bows; once, twice, thrice. They raise reverent thimblefuls of ceremonial wine, and drink under the silver radiance of the moon, two pairs of white eyes not once leaving the other. The wine heightens everything, from the stark, dark crimson of the chamber and bed matting, to the rush and hiss of heavy silk as it sinks to the wooden floor, divested from skin. Hinata leans, pressing her lips softly against Neji's forehead, shuddering as her mouth trails past the curse seal, then struggling to remember to breathe, as her lips come to rest on his. He feels the way a moth would when it presses its body against an all-encompassing flame, the instant before it is consumed; all the sensations in the world rushing forth and swelling in his heart, before being extinguished in the face of white hot bliss.

The seventh time, it is winter without snow, black-skied but not raining; dawn could be mistaken for dusk, and so forth. Neji stands on numb legs, sightless behind slow, burning tears. He does not hear grief or whispers carried by the wind from the gathered crowd. Hokage-sama presses a cupful of medicinal tea with gruff tenderness into his hands; Neji drinks it like a soldier who is ordered suicide, and the tea slides like hot ash down his throat. The Godaime eases from Neji's grip a single stalk of white carnation, petals crushed, turns and places it gently upon the altar. Hinata's smiling, paper countenance thanks her silently, and implores for Neji to meet her sightless gaze. The Hokage can do nothing, however; Neji has nothing left to sense with.

Etched deeply into white stone: _Hyuuga Hinata is honoured and remembered for her service bravely and nobly rendered as a kunoichi of Konohagakure no Sato. _


End file.
